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Alvin Curran, an American composer / multiplayer who studied under Ron Nelson and Elliott Carter and was known to be active in Musica Elettronica Viva, which was formed with Frederic Rzewski during his stay in Italy, is Roberto Laneri and Giacinto. The gem's first album released in 1975 by his own label, Ananda, formed with Scelsi and others, is a re-vinyl reissue from Superior Viaduct!
One of the legends left by Karan when he was most experimental! Natural sounds such as the sound of waves, wind, birds, dogs, and insects, the sound of a rich synthesizer, and the minimalist melody of Kalimba that makes you feel the lyeism. A modern classical masterpiece. One piece that I want to push as much as possible from the current flow of new age / ambient re-evaluation. Francesco Messina, Steve Reich, Franco Battiato and Superior Viaduct, who evoke the musical heritage of all over the world beyond time and space, are the moments that pass through the mysterious gate. Recommended for those who like Lino Capra Vaccina, Roberto Musci and Sean McCann.
1976年にEl Saturnよりリリースされていた、オリジナルは3万円級の激レア盤が、遂にオリジナルのアートワーク仕様で、信頼の審美眼光る名門Superior Viaductよりヴァイナル再発!! スピリチュアル・ジャズのリヴィングレジェンドであるPharoah Sandersをフィーチャーした(この時まだコルトレーンと会う以前)、1964年大晦日NYでのライブ音源。盛り上がりをみせる60年代フリージャズ・ムーヴメントの熱気を垣間みるかのような、ド渋の惑星空間名演。ジャケットのアートワークも秀逸です。

The recording of Earth Blossom, the John Betsch Society's one and only album, seems something of an enigma nowadays. For even though Nashville is clearly one of the towns in the US with the highest number of recording studios, who would have thought that the capital of country music would give birth to one of the forgotten masterpieces of 1970s spiritual jazz. The path leading to the album starts in 1963 when John Betsch, originally from Jacksonville in Florida, arrives in Nashville to study at Frisk University. He is a young drummer and joins Bob Holmes trio. Holmes is one of the towns major jazz organists and pianists; he becomes Betschs mentor and, over the space of two years, John will play alternately with him and with the trumpeter Louis Smiths group. However, in 1965, John leaves town to go to the prestigious Berkeley University in Boston and do a two-year course along with his fellow debutants with names like John Abercrombie, Ernie Watts and Alan Broadbent. Two years later, he is invited by a pianist friend, Billy Chilf, to join the legendary singer/songwriter Tim Hardins group. Just after Woodstock, John Betsch and Tim record a psychedelic album Columbia will never release together with the members of the future group Oregon: Colin Walcott, Glen Moore, Paul McCandles and his friend Billy Chilf. But he soon leaves this group to return to Nashville where he hooks up again with his friend Bob Holmes. Two years later, he is accepted on Archie Shepp and Max Roachs famous course at the University of Massachusetts Amherst (UMASS) and for the next four years he participates in this collective of intellectuals and musicians under the aegis of the two masters.
During this period he returns to Nashville to form his Society whose music is obviously influenced by the Afrocentric ideas of the UMASS student and political movement. However, the album, recorded in one day and in one take, also bears the hallmark of their generations psychedelic experiences, and in the themes and playing of the musicians we can hear a less violent form of music than the radical free jazz of New York or Chicago. Nature and environmental themes are the inspiration behind tracks touched by the spirit of Coltrane but also of Flower Power.
After Amherst, John Betsch joins Marion Browns group in 1976, leaves Tennessee for good and makes his home in New York over the next ten years or so. He plays and records with Dollar Brand, Kalaparusha Maurice McIntyre and many others, before heading off to France. He has lived in Paris for the last twenty years and played in Steve Lacy, Mal Waldron and Archie Shepp bands, as well as forming groups of his own. He now lives in Paris and plays with many musicians/bands.
Limited Clear Vinyl. Despite his status as a key figure in the history of Japanese ambient music, Hiroshi Yoshimura remains tragically under-known outside of his home country. Empire of Signs – a new imprint co-helmed by Maxwell August Croy, Spencer Doran and distributed by Light In The Attic – is proud to reissue Yoshimura’s debut Music for Nine Post Cards for the first time outside Japan in collaboration with Hiroshi’s widow Yoko Yoshimura, with more reissues of Hiroshi’s works to follow in the future.
Working initially as a conceptual artist, the musical side of Yoshimura’s artistic practice came to prominence in the post-Fluxus scene of late 1970s Tokyo alongside Akio Suzuki and Takehisa Kosugi, taking many subsequent turns within Japan’s bubble economy afterward. His sound works took on many forms – commissioned fashion runway scores, soundtracking perfume, soundscapes for pre-fab houses, train station sound design – all existing not as side work but as logical extensions of his philosophy of sound. His work strived for serenity as an ideal, and this approach can be felt strongly on Music for Nine Post Cards.
Home recorded on a minimal setup of keyboard and Fender Rhodes, Music for Nine Post Cards was Yoshimura’s first concrete collection of music, initially a demo recording given to the Hara Museum of Contemporary Art to be played within the building’s architecture. This was not background music in the prior Japanese “BGM” sense of the word, but “environmental music”, the literal translation of the Japanese term kankyō ongaku [環境音楽] given to Brian Eno’s “ambient” music when it arrived in late 70’s Japan. Yoshimura, along with his musical co-traveler Satoshi Ashikawa, searched for a new dialog between sound and space: music not as an external absolute, but as something that interlocks with a physical environment and shifts the listener’s experience within it. Erik Satie’s furniture music, R. Murray Schafer’s concept of the soundscape and Eno’s ambience all greatly informed their work, but the specific form of tranquil stasis presented on releases like Nine Post Cards is still difficult to place within a specific tradition, remaining elusive and idiosyncratic despite the economy of its construction. This record offers the perfect introduction to Hiroshi’s unique and beautiful worldview: it’s one that can be listened to – and lived in – endlessly.
Blue vinyl. One word that could be used to aptly describe Japan’s society and culture during the 1980s would be ‘bubble economy (バブル 経済)’, which is to say that it was characterized by abnormally inflated asset prices. Japan, which had emerged as a global economic powerhouse through the rapid growth of the 70s, saw an era of unprecedented economic prosperity as it entered the 80s. At this time, the very notion of city life, with its promise of prosperity amid economic stability, had a sense of allure to it. A growing number of people sought to partake in a culture that was more sophisticated and refined. Likewise, a growing consumer base was purchasing automobiles and car audios. It was amid this atmosphere that new forms of music drawing on western soft rock, AOR, and adult contemporary, and incorporating elements of smooth jazz, contemporary R&B, and funk, rose to prominence. The urban-tinged music created by artists such as Haruomi Hosono (細野晴臣, formerly of Japanese rock pioneers ‘Happy End’) and Tatsuro Yamashita (山下達郎) came to be known as city pop. The city pop boom, which was buoyed on by the optimism pervading Japanese society during the 80s, faded away along with the collapse of the economic bubble. City pop still went on to influence the ‘Shibuya-kei’ style, which developed during the 90s around Tokyo’s Shibuya district, drawing from French pop, baroque pop, bossa nova, lounge, and house music. The recent resurgence in the popularity of city pop, to the point where it appears to have carved out a central position in digger / listener culture, is a rather intriguing phenomenon. To begin with, the term ‘city pop’ itself was more of a marketing slogan, pointing to ‘music with urban sensibilities’ targeted toward consumers aspiring to urban life, rather than a descriptor of some particular music style or genre. Neither was the term widely used during the 80s, the historical peak of the style’s popularity. On the contrary, it appears to have been rediscovered and redefined amid the ‘new-tro’ vogue of the late 2000s, driven by the nostalgia of those who grew up during the 80s. The important elements of ‘city pop’ have more to do with the sensational and affective descriptors associated with the term itself – such as sophistication, relaxedness, comfort, freshness, dynamism, elegance, radiance, sweetness, as well as the splendor and romanticism associated with the city. The underlying appeal of retro stems from the desire to experience and enjoy things from before one’s own time. This is not unconnected to the popularity of ‘cool kitschy’ subcultural trends like vaporwave or future funk. So, there’s nothing surprising about today’s youths digging through well or lesser-known Korean gayo records from the early / mid 90s featuring AOR, jazz fusion, or funky styles. Likewise, the artists that are mentioned under the keywords of ‘Korean City Pop’ – names like the Yoon Soo-il Band or the City Kids, Lee Jae-min, Bom Yeoreum Gaeul Kyeoul, Kim Hyun-chul, Yoon Sang, Jang Pil-soon, Bitgwa Sogeum, Yang Soo-kyung, Nami, and Lee Eun-ha – are not unfamiliar. Though their popularity might have been short-lived at the time, their music featured soft saxophone parts, lively rhythms, delicately-crafted harmonies, and beautiful melodies. These make for a fusion sound that is particularly well-suited for the tastes of today. It is worth appreciating that the 90s, by which time the waves of American AOR and Japan’s city pop had faded away, was a golden age for Korean gayo. So, it’s quite rewarding and enjoyable to rediscover and listen to tracks that are well worth another spin after all those years. Amid this process of rediscovery, one of the recurring names is ‘Dong-A Records’ – an artist-driven label that has left a distinctive mark on Korean pop music. It rose to become the ‘Mecca of Korea’s underground music’ thanks to its unique beginnings, sense of orientation, and production / promotion methods that set it apart from the usual record labels and entertainment agencies. Consider some of the mainstays of the label’s roster – there’s a long list of illustrious artists including Deulgukhwa, Shi-in-gwa Chonjang (Poet and Chief), Cho Dong-jin, the Shinchon Blues, Han Young-ae, Kim Hyun-shik, Pureun Haneul, Kim Hyun-chul, Bom Yeoreum Gaeul Kyeoul, Bitgwa Sogeum, Jang Pil-soon, Park Hak-gi, and Lee Sora. Although Bom Yeoreum Gaeul Kyeoul did score a latter-day hit in 2002 with ‘Bravo, My Life!’, the true heyday of Dong-A Records was a short-lived period that lasted from the mid-80s to the early-90s. Regardless of whether some of the works achieved commercial and/or popular success, all albums were produced to high musical standards. Building on the individuality and talent of the artists on the roster, each of the works produced at Dong-A employed capable session musicians and were recorded meticulously. And among this body of work, there have been a number of tunes that did not fade away with the passing of the years, but have remained like sparkling gems strewn across the sandy beaches of time. Such are the tunes that have been carefully collected into this compilation album. The 10 tracks were selected by the multi- talented Tiger Disco, who has made his name amid the retro resurgence as a DJ specializing in funk / disco gayo from the 80s. The title of this compilation, ‘Our Town’, and the by-title, ‘Jazz Fusion, Funky Pop & Bossa Gayo Tracks from Dong-A Records’ plainly set down the character of the album. Perhaps a more ‘current’ description of the album would be to call it a ‘Dong-A Records City Pop Collection’. The tracks cover the historical heyday years of the label – from 1989 to 1993 – an era by which Korea’s gayo scene had matured to the point of making significant strides forward in terms of both quality and quantity. Amid a previously pop-dominated music market, gayo music had carved out a newfound and varied sense of status, putting out records that were enthusiastically purchased by young listeners. Upcoming Korean musicians who had absorbed the vibrant and plentiful influences and sensibilities of 80s pop, rock, and jazz had started reaching new levels of sophistication in their music, thus setting them apart from the gayo acts that had come before them without thinking to confine or limit themselves to notions of ‘Korean-ness’. In any case, their music was uncommon in Korea at the time. The sensibilities of these songs, which in many aspects were ahead of their time, sometimes served as a refreshing inspiration for listeners while escaping popular notice at other times. And now, after nearly a generation has passed, the tunes of this compilation have not lost their appeal. Throwbacks to some, and the object of engrossing discovery to others, the tunes selected here remain cool and hip.


Somewhere Between: Mutant Pop, Electronic Minimalism & Shadow Sounds of Japan 1980–1988 hovers vibe–wise between two distinct poles within Light In The Attic’s acclaimed Japan Archival Series—Kankyō Ongaku: Japanese Ambient, Environmental & New Age Music 1980–1990 and Pacific Breeze: Japanese City Pop, AOR & Boogie 1976–1986. All three albums showcase recordings produced during Japan’s soaring bubble economy of the 1980s, an era in which aesthetic visions and consumerism merged. Music echoed the nation’s prosperity and with financial abundance came the luxury to dream. Sonically, Somewhere Between mines the midpoint between Kankyō Ongaku’s sparkling atmospherics and Pacific Breeze’s metropolitan boogie. The compilation encompasses ambient pop, underground electronics, liminal minimalism and shadow sounds—all descriptors emphasizing the hazy nature of the nebula. Out–of–focus rhythms wear ethereal accoutrements, ballads are shrouded in static, and angular drums snake skyward on transcendent tones. From the Avant–minimalism of Mkwaju Ensemble and Yoshio Ojima, to the leftfield techno-pop of Mishio Ogawa and Noriko Miyamoto (featuring members of YMO), and highlights from the groundbreaking Osaka underground label Vanity Records, these are blurry constellations defying collective categorization. These tracks also exist in a space of transition when the major label grip on the Japanese recording market began to give way to the escalation of independents. Thanks to the idyllic economic climate and innovations in domestically–manufactured music gear, creators on the edges were empowered to focus on satisfying their artistic visions in the open headspace of home studios. While labels like Warner Music and Nippon Columbia explored new sounds through traditional channels, it was possible for Vanity, Balcony and other indie labels, not to mention self–released artists like Ojima and Naoki Asai, to publish their work via affordable media such as cassettes, 7" vinyl, and flexi–discs. Expertly curated by Yosuke Kitazawa and Mark “Frosty” McNeill (dublab), Somewhere Between is a collection of music, much of it released for the first time outside Japan, that is bound more by energetic vibration than shared history, genre or scene. They are the sounds of transition and searching—a celebration of the freedom found in floating. Note: The track “Days Man” by Yoshio Ojima is only available on the LP and Cassette versions.




10 brilliant tracks from 1960’s Sierra Leone by the wildly popular S.E. Rogie!
S.E. Rogie went from running a tailor shop in Sierra Leone to being one of West Africa's most popular artists. He toured around the country, singing his palm wine music in multiple local languages, created his own record label, and was known as the most handsome man in Sierra Leone. He formed the highlife band The Morningstars in 1965. In 1973, he came to the Bay Area to live and expand his base, performing everywhere from local high schools and convalescent homes to festivals and large stages. In his later life he hit the road again and toured the world, eventually passing away while on stage in Russia in 1994.
He shared the following songwriting wisdom with his son, Rogee Rogers: “When you write a song, you can be complicated if you want, but your chorus should be that anybody can sing it.”
These tracks were originally released on his own Rogie label in the 1960s and include solo, ensemble, and Morningstars songs, most of which have never been reissued until now.
“When the mbira is played, it brings the two worlds together, the world of our ancestors and the world of today.” Ephat Mujuru (1950-2001)
Ephat Mujuru exemplifies a unique generation of traditional musicians in Zimbabwe. Born under an oppressive colonial regime in Southern Rhodesia, his generation witnessed the brutality of the 1970s liberation struggle, and then the dawn of independent Zimbabwe, a time in which African music culture—long stigmatized by Rhodesian educators and religious authorities—experienced a thrilling renaissance.
Ephat was raised in traditional Shona culture in a small rural village in Manicaland, near the Mozambique border. His grandfather and primary caretaker, Muchatera Mujuru, was a respected spirit medium, and master of the mbira dzavadzimu, a hand-held lamellophone used in Shona religion to make contact and receive council from deceased ancestors. There are many lamellophones in Africa, but none with the musical complexity and spiritual significance of the mbira dzavadzimu. Ephat’s first memories were of elaborate ceremonies, called biras that featured all-night music and dancing, millet beer, the sacrifice of oxen and a profound experience of connecting with ancestors. Under the tutelage of his grandfather, Ephat showed an early talent for the rigors of mbira training, playing his first possession ceremony when he was just ten years old.
But from the moment he entered school, Ephat experienced Rhodesian racism and cultural oppression. Nuns at his Catholic school told him that to play the mbira was “a sin against God.” Enraged by this, Ephat’s grandfather sent him to school in an African township near the capital of Salisbury (present-day Harare). By then, guerilla war was engulfing the country and Muchatera tragically became a victim of the violence, a devastating blow to the young musician. Lonely and alienated in the city, Ephat reached out to other mbira masters—Mubayiwa Bandambira, Simon Mashoko and an “uncle” Mude Hakurotwi.
In 1972 Ephat formed his first group, naming it for one of the most beloved Shona ancestors, Chaminuka. In the midst of the liberation struggle, mbira music became political. Singer and bandleader Thomas Mapfumo began interpreting mbira songs with an electric dance band, creating chimurenga (loosely “struggle”) music, named for the independence fighters.
Ephat and Chaminuka had their first success with the single “Guruswa.” Ephat once recalled, “We were talking about our struggle to free ourselves,” explained Ephat. “In ancient Africa, in the time of our ancestors, they had none of the problems we have today.” The problems he spoke of—subjugation, cultural oppression and mass poverty—were purely the results of colonization. “We wanted the place to be like it was, before colonization.”
The Rhodesians were defeated, but rather than return to the past, the nation of Zimbabwe was born and a new future unfolded. Ephat threw himself into the spirit of independence, helping to found the National Dance Company of Zimbabwe and becoming the first African music instructor at the formerly all-Western Zimbabwe College of Music. Ephat renamed his band Spirit of the People and recorded his first album in 1981, using only mbira, hand drums, hosho and singers. He sang of brotherhood, healing, and unity: crucial themes during a time when the nation’s two dominant ethnic groups, the Shona and the Ndebele, were struggling to reconcile differences.
Ephat’s band would eventually follow the popular trend and add electric instruments. But before that, he and Spirit of the People released two all-acoustic albums, and they may well be the most exciting and beautiful recordings he made in his career. Mbavaira, the second of these albums, was released in 1983. The title itself is not easy to translate. A Shona speaker with deep cultural knowledge observed that he could not find an exact English counterpart, but that it was “something like ‘chaos.’”
Mbavaira came out on Gramma Records, the country’s only label at the time. Gramma was still finding its way in a vastly changed music market. Guitar bands were ascendant and lots of new talent was emerging. As the independence years moved on, there would be fewer and fewer commercial mbira releases. But for the moment, Ephat had the required stature and reputation. Also, with the energy and drive we hear in these recordings, the album could easily rival the pop music of its day.
Ephat had long since mastered a large repertoire of traditional mbira songs and developed his own approach to arranging them. He had also become a gifted composer, although, with mbira music, it is often hard to draw a clear line between arranging and composing. Certain mbira pieces are like the 12-bar blues form or the “I Got Rhythm” changes in jazz: one can always create a new song from the existing template. But when you listen to Ephat’s feisty refrain on the song “Kwenda Mbire” (“Going to Mbire”), you just know it came from him. Ephat was a small, almost elfin, man, but he had the most exuberant personality and it comes through with particular clarity on that track.
An mbira ensemble typically uses at least two mbiras, playing separate interlocking parts so that it can be difficult to tell who is playing what. The sound becomes one. The only required percussion is the gourd rattle called hosho. It plays a very specific triplet rhythm and it has to be strong and solid to ensure that the mbira parts line up perfectly. Otherwise, the spirit will not come! The call-and-response vocals are also distinctive, a mix of hums and cries and melodic refrains, often punctuated by joyous ululations.
The tonality of a song like “Mudande” is moody, even a little dark. But the melodies that emerge have a remarkable way of turning wistfulness into merriment. The song title means “in Dande,” Dande being a remote northern region in Zimbabwe known for its inhospitable climate and deeply entrenched traditional culture.
Mbira is a healing music. Ephat once recalled, “When I was with Bandambira and Simon Mashoko, I was very surprised at what really made them happy. My grandfather was a very happy person. They had respect.” Ephant contrasted this happiness with the sour demeanor of the whites who condescended to him in Salisbury in his youth. “Somebody who wants to suppress another person is very unhappy.”
Within a few years after the release of Mbavaira, it and albums like it became harder to find in Zimbabwean record stores. Ephat adapted to the times and formed an electric band. “People were surprised,” he recalled. “They said, ‘Are you not going to play your mbira the way you did before?’ I said, I haven't changed anything. It's like me learning Shona and English, or French or Japanese. It's adding to the knowledge. The old one doesn't go away. When you buy a new jacket, you don't throw the old one away.” And indeed, when he began frequenting the UK and the United States, he would record more, mostly acoustic, albums.
But none of them have the particularly delicious energy of Spirit of the People in the first years of Zimbabwe’s independence. The final track on Mbavaira is a popular Shona hunting song, “Nyama Musango,” literally “Meat in the forest.” As elsewhere, Ephat does not sing the lead, leaving that role to his razor-voiced uncle, Mude Hakurotwi, with his mastery of timbres and rich repertoire of traditional vocables.
It was a tragedy to lose Ephat in 2001. He died from a heart attack shortly after landing at Heathrow Airport, en route to teach and perform in the U.S.. No doubt, he had much more to offer, for as he liked to say, “Mbira is like a sea. It's not a small river. You are getting into the big sea. So I try to show them the Indian Ocean, the Pacific, the Atlantic. What I'm trying to bring now to this music, through all the experiences I've had, is unity.” True unity has been difficult to achieve in Zimbabwe, given its combative history, but if anything could do the trick, this music might be the thing.
Banning Eyre
Senior Producer for Afropop Worldwide
